1999
by cashew
Summary: Welcome to a world where Voldemort was never defeated. The Ministry of Magic is now a tool used to control the Wizarding World.
1. By the Pricking of my Thumbs

**1999**

Disclaimer: Elements of this plot (and the title) resemble George Orwell's _1984_. I own nothing from either Orwell or Rowling but am merely having a bit of fun combining the worlds. See end of chapter for further explanation.

Prologue: By the Pricking of my Thumbs

"The last door in the second corridor on the eighteenth floor…the last door in the second corridor on the eighteenth floor…the last door in the second corridor on the eighteenth floor…"

A young girl muttered the words under her breath over and over again. She could not get it wrong. It was an important task. She would never get the chance to meet anyone remotely interesting if she couldn't follow simple orders.

Her breath caught in her throat as she reached her destination. The eighteenth floor.

Anyone who was important worked on the eighteenth floor at the Ministry. Everyone knew that.

It was said He even held an office here. Not that she would even know what He looked like if she were to cross him.

Come to think if, she was not entirely sure she wanted to know. She wanted excitement and she wanted to meet important people. But she couldn't shake the feeling that to meet him would be to meet death.

The Protector. The Liberator. Father to them all.

He was God and the Devil rolled into one. Not that she would ever voice that opinion to anyone.

Her eyes darted around nervously. Perhaps it was dangerous to even think such things on the eighteenth floor. One could never be too careful.

She shook her red hair and started down the second hallway. The last door…

The last door on which side of the hallway?

She bit her lip in thought. No one had mentioned the possibility that there would be a door on each side. They only told her the last door in the second corridor on the eighteenth floor. Knock on the door three times. When it opens hand over the envelope. Do not allow your eyes to leave to floor. Do not look at the person who opens the door. Then turn around and come back.

A cold sweat broke on her forehead, if she chose the wrong door they could kill her. They had killed others for less.

She had just wanted a bit of excitement, really. But she hadn't wanted to die.

She certainly could not go back downstairs with the envelope still in hand.

While examining the doors closer she did notice that one seemed to be just a tad farther to the end of the hallway than the other. That must be to correct door, she decided.

Filled with new resolve she brought her knuckle to the middle of the door and knocked three steady times. As predicted, the door opened and she felt the envelope being tugged from her own hand.

A sigh of relief. She had done it.

Eyes still firmly on the ground she waited for the door to close once more before she dared to move.

It did not close, though.

She was aware of the rules. Clearly, she could not leave before the other party closed the door. She did not dare to peek up to see what they were doing, though.

"Lord, but they train you all to be emotionless," came from above her.

She was certain the surprise was evident on her face. Which, considering the comment, was slightly ironic.

"Look at me, girl."

It was a direct order. She could hardly ignore it.

Hoping beyond hope that she was not physically trembling she lifted her head to see a tall, slender male. She would guess him to be somewhere in his mid-thirties. He was handsome but not in a way to intimidate -- more of a friendly, playful handsome.

She was terrified.

Those who looked the least threatening in appearance were often those from whom you had the most to fear.

Not that she had anyway to know, but she heard rumors that the spies looked like this. What if he had a way of knowing she was having traitorous thoughts not even fifteen feet away?

Meanwhile, the man was still staring at her with something resembling interest.

"You wouldn't happen to be a Weasley, would you?" He finally asked.

With no shortage of confusion she peered up at him. "Sir?"

He waved her off. "No, of course you wouldn't know if you were a Weasley. But I'll eat my left foot if you aren't. No other family has hair that red."

Still avoiding his eyes she eagerly absorbed the information.

_Weasley, Weasley, Weasley_ she repeated in her mind. As soon as she could find a way into the Hall of Records she would look up the name.

No one had last names any longer. There weren't families. There were only the purebloods and…the non-purebloods.

He cleared his throat and appeared to be almost uncomfortable. "I don't need to remind you the consequences of repeating that, do I?"

"No, sir."

"Good. I have another assignment for you, then, since you seem to be a capable girl."

She stared at the floor once again.

"Knock on the fifth door on the right in the other hallway. When the door opens hand the man this piece of parchment. I'll trust you not to peek at it on the way there," he said with what could be described as amusement.

Without a word she accepted the parchment from him and made her way down the other hallway.

She counted to doors and knocked three times on the fifth door.

"Well? What department are you from, girl?"

Her throat went dry. The parchment wasn't from her department so she couldn't very well tell him it was. But to refer to another member would not be at all wise.

"Speak!" he commanded.

She flinched and swallowed down a feeling of irrational anger that came with his animal-like treatment of her.

Feeling slightly rebellious she finally settled on her answer. "A gentleman from the other hallway instructed me to deliver this, sir."

The man grabbed the parchment from her and as he read it she could practically feel anger radiating from him.

"Bloody Black," she heard him mutter before he slammed the door shut.

Bloody Black? Was that some sort of curse, she wondered. Perhaps it was the first man's name.

_Black, Black, Black_. She would have to remember to look it up along with Weasley.

* * *

A/N -- _1984_ is, quite possibly, my favorite book of all time. As Russian history is my nerdy passion I adore the book and how accurate it is. Anyway, point is that Big Brother is one of the most brilliant acts of fiction from the twentieth century so I hope George will forgive me for somewhat borrowing him along with certain elements of the plot. Also, the title is from Macbeth. Full quote is "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." 

This is, obviously, an Alternate Universe story. The prologue is vague because…well, prologue are always vague, aren't they? I'm sure you've all figured out the main character by now. If not, though, stick around.

Oh, and the title has nothing to do with the Prince song. Though I will admit that is a classic, lol.

If anything is unclear or there are any questions either e-mail me or leave me contact info in your review and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.


	2. There's Daggers in Men's Smiles

**1999  
**Chapter One: There's Daggers in Men's Smiles

She went back to the twelfth floor with a twinge of nervousness. She hadn't done anything wrong. At least, she didn't think she had.

She couldn't have refused the man, right?

If anyone was needed to take a message to the eighteenth floor again she would not volunteer. It was a bad idea to volunteer anyhow. Best not to draw attention to yourself in that way. If you volunteered too much they would wonder why you were so anxious to please. Or so anxious to be on the eighteenth floor.

No, it was better to be average. Invisible.

If He took notice of you it was only a matter of time before you were dead.

She could feel the panic rising in her throat. He often took notice of those on the twelfth floor. The twelfth floor was considered prestigious. The privileged.

The children, quite simply, who had the best blood.

She didn't know her family. She didn't even know her last name -- but she knew that her blood was pure. Here, that was all that mattered. Here, if your blood wasn't pure you worked on one of the first three floors.

Slaves.

They were inferior. She knew that. But she couldn't help but wonder sometimes…

Combined with the muggles the mudbloods, quite simply, outnumbered the purebloods. Even with thought they would be opposing ancient magic she didn't see how they couldn't use simple strength of numbers to take over.

Maybe they didn't want to.

Maybe they were just too ignorant to get organized in such a way.

There was no hope. She wasn't sure of how old she was but she had been around long enough to realize that if the muggles and the mudbloods were going to retaliate they would have already done so.

She shook her head. Of course there was hope. They had their Lord. She loved him. Of course she did. To prove it she repeated the phrase a few times in her head.

* * *

"Ginevra," a soft voice called out.

"In here," she responded from her sitting room.

A gawky man made his way into the room and stared at her questioningly for a moment. "What are you doing?"

"Drawing," she stated.

He peered over her shoulder to stare at the drawing of a man with shaggy black hair. "Drawing what?"

"A man I met today…on the eighteenth floor. I want to find out who he is."

"Ginevra!"

"Neville!" she mocked.

He twisted his hands in a nervous manner. "I won't help you."

She smiled prettily at him, "You won't help your very best friend?"

"Not with this. You're completely mad."

"Relax. I wasn't going to ask for your help with this anyway. However, there is another matter with which you can assist. I want you to find out who the Weasleys were."

"A family?"

She stared at the picture sadly. "I think they were my family."

Neville hissed and grabbed her upper arm, pulling her to her feet. "You want to find your family? Now I _know_ you are mad! Ginevra, they'd kill you for this. They'd kill _me_ for this!"

She sighed. He was right, of course. And she knew it was wrong to ask him…but she didn't work in the Hall of Records. She didn't have access. He did. "Please, Neville? If you had the chance to find out who your parents were you would, right? Tell me you don't think about them…tell me you don't wonder."

"It's a fool's errand," he replied.

"Probably. But I have to know. Say you'll help me."

He looked into her eyes. He'd yet to refuse her on any of her other requests. "I'll try."

Ginevra smiled and gave her friend a quick hug. "You're the best, Neville! No one saw you come over, did they?"

He gazed over to the door, still startled from the physical contact. "I don't think so. Even so, I shouldn't stay long."

She nodded. She and Neville had lived in the same building for as long as she could remember. No one had family anymore and it was kind of dangerous to your health to have friends…but she liked Neville.

They visited when they could but no so often that anyone would notice an attachment.

As Neville slipped back out her door she went back to the picture of the man.

_Black_.

She darkened his hair. If that were his name it fit him.

* * *

The following day Ginevra sat anxiously at a table, picking at her lunch. Neville was supposed to sit with her today and let her know what he had found about the Weasleys.

When Neville sat beside her she stared straight ahead as if she hadn't noticed his presence.

"Lovely weather today, isn't it?" he said.

"Yes, beautiful."

"You work in magic control, correct?"

She turned her head toward him. "Yes, I do. What department do you work in, again?"

"Hall of Records," he said simply. "But your department is no doubt more interesting. Any incidents lately?"

"Nothing of note, really. There was a banned spell used by an unidentified man yesterday. We haven't yet been able to trace him."

Neville's eyes widened in feigned interest. "Fascinating."

"Indeed. Do tell me about your work in Records, though."

Here he lowered his voice, "I recently researched an old magical family. Powerful and extinct, of course. Seven children on file, six males and one female, all deceased. They didn't survive the revolution -- they were enemies of our lord." He cleared his throat, "It is no doubt dangerous to be of such blood."

"Indeed," she repeated. "I daresay your work is enthralling in its own right."

Standing with her tray she nodded to Neville. "I must get back to my department. Good day, comrade."

"Good day," he responded.

As she walked out of the dining hall Ginevra digested this new information. If the Weasleys were her family that could prove…fatal.

After the revolution opposing families had been systematically eliminated. All the blood traitors were singled out and given especially unpleasant deaths. No one knew who these families were individually, though. They had been erased from history -- the only record of their existence was in Neville's department.

She had been less than a few years of age when the revolution occurred. It was a possibility that she was killed in the records and allowed to live. After all, she would have been young enough to educate properly.

Ginevra supposed her curiosity was thus satisfied. If this was her family then she was undoubtedly the last surviving member. And it would most certainly not be in her best interest for anyone else to find out this information.

Blood was everything and if anyone of importance discovered she from a family of traitors they might think that made her dangerous.

Just suppress the information, she told herself. One could never be too careful. They said He could use his magic to read minds.

While walking into her department, though, Ginevra recalled her conversation with the man

_Black_

yesterday. You wouldn't happen to be a Weasley, he had said. No other family has hair that red.

Her throat went dry. He worked on the eighteenth floor and was obviously familiar with the family.

Before she could contemplate how disastrous this was, though, her superior had waved her over.

"Ginevra," he said without looking at her. "You're wanted on the eighteenth floor. You'll be met at the elevator."

Her hands began to shake.

* * *

A/N -- First actual chapter and already a cliffhanger of sorts. That has to be a new record for me.

The chapter title once again goes to Shakespeare. I am unbelievably horrible with coming up with chapter titles so I think I'll just use Shakespeare quotes throughout. I knew randomly storing up quotes would come in handy. This one is also from Macbeth. I promise to pick a different play next chapter.

Oh, and as for the comrade comment…eh, couldn't resist. I'll try to not be too annoying with everyone calling one another comrade, lol.

Please review!


	3. Better Strangers

**1999**

Chapter Two: I Do Desire We May be Better Strangers

_Ask yourself why totalitarian dictatorships find it necessary to pour money and effort into propaganda for their own helpless, chained, gagged slaves, who have no means of protest or defense. The answer is that even the humblest peasant or the lowest savage would rise in blind rebellion, were he to realize that he is being immolated, not to some incomprehensible noble purpose, but to plain, naked human evil. _--Ayn Rand

Ginevra composed herself in the elevator. If you look nervous then you have something to hide.

She did have something to hide, but the last thing she needed was to appear that way.

As the doors opened her eyes met familiar, friendly ones. The same eyes she was attempting to recapture on paper in spare moments.

Those eyes held a danger in them that she could not quite place.

"Greetings, Ginevra," the man said jovially.

"Comrade," she responded, looking at the floor.

The man grinned. "Please, call me Sirius."

She said nothing.

He dropped the smile. "Well, lively crowd tonight, eh? Walk with me, Ginevra."

She followed him down the hallway that seemed so daunting the other day. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking toward her doom.

They entered his office and he shut the door behind them.

He took out his wand and preformed a silencing spell on the room.

"Silencing spells are forbidden!" she shouted before she could stop herself.

The man smiled once more. "Not to me they aren't."

She mumbled an apology, hoping that he hadn't taken offence at her presumption.

"Now, Ginevra, why don't you tell me anything new you've learned over the past twenty-four hours."

She looked at him in confusion. "Sir?"

Black sighed as if dealing with a defiant child. "What is your last name?"

"I don't have a last name. We are now free from surnames due to the gracious nature of our Lord."

"Gracious nature," he repeated in an amused tone. "I know that you found out who the Weasleys are, Ginevra. Why don't you tell me what you discovered?"

She hesitated. Anything she said or didn't say would be more than enough to warrant her death. She supposed she probably deserved any punishment she received. By even wanting to know her family she was the very definition of a traitor.

She finally chose the path of least resistance. "I discovered that I am much better off without them."

Black let out a sharp bark of laughter, "Clever. Unexpected, but clever. You know, most would have kept with the denial or begged for mercy…others would beg for me to kill them for their sin. You're smart, Ginevra."

She swallowed. The smart never survived. The last person on her floor who had been praised for being intelligent was quickly deemed too intelligent for their own good. They referred to those as mercy killings.

"Tell me, then, in what ways are you better for never knowing your mother and father?"

A test. She knew this was a test of her loyalty…to see if she truly loved their Lord of if she was just sprouting off nonsense.

Her first thought was it is harder to miss what you never had. That's why they saved the youngest and generally killed the older children -- the ones who would remember their families.

"Our Lord is the only father I'll ever require," she recited from the many lessons of her youth.

"That doesn't answer my question," Black said thinly. "It doesn't much matter, anyhow." He pulled a ring out of his pocket and twisted it in his hands before tossing it to her. "Illegal permanent portkey," he stated simply, "you get in trouble push in on the diamond."

She was tempted to throw the ring back. If such a thing were discovered on her person it would be a betrayal to the man she just called her father. And the fact that Sirius would have such a thing…

Was he a traitor?

She thought again of his eyes. No. He was most likely a spy. He was testing her with this illegal portkey.

"I'm not a spy," he said as if reading her thoughts. "Don't let anyone catch you with that portkey."

He gestured for her to leave and she gladly slipped out of the office. It was much better to be on the twelfth floor. It was far less dangerous there.

* * *

Ginevra remained conflicted for the rest of the day. He was either a traitor or a spy and neither was of much use to her.

After hours of turning over every possibility in her mind she decided to speak to Neville about the situation. Neville always had a level head…and besides, maybe he had found out something about Black or Sirius or whoever the man was.

She walked quietly through the hallways of her building and stood silently in front of Neville's door. After checking to make sure no one was watching her she turned the door handle and entered the familiar apartment.

What awaited her was quite an unfamiliar scene.

With wide, terrified eyes she looked at her friend gagged and bound on the floor.

Four men who had been torturing him for hours with a mixture of muggle and magical methods turned to face the redhead in the room.

Ginevra could feel the bile rise in the back of her throat and the tears stinging her eyes. She was too shocked to move and too horrified to scream.

Neville wasn't moving. Ginevra could not properly assess his condition from her vantage point but the four men in black robes knew very well that Neville wasn't likely to ever move again.

One of the men took a step toward her and Ginevra did the only thing she could think of: She ran out of the apartment with a speed she had never known she possessed.

* * *

A/N: OK, I apologize that this is short and I've honestly written more but this is the best break point for this chapter. I promise that chapters will be longer from here on out…this just leads to the main part of the story and I'd rather keep them separate. To make up for it I will post thenext chapter quickly. Anyway, enough in the way of pathetic explanations, eh?

Please take the time to review. Don't force me to beg ;)

Chapter title is from As You Like It…I believe. It's kind of late so I could be mixed up. If I'm wrong feel free to correct me.


	4. A Twicetold Tale

**1999**

Chapter Three: Life is as Tedious as a Twice-told Tale

_Political language - and with variations this is true of all political parties, from Conservatives to Anarchists - is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.  
_--George Orwell

The four men in black robes stared at one another as the girl fled the room.

"What are you standing here for?" the leader shouted angrily, "Stop her!"

* * *

Ginevra ran blindly into the night with tears falling down her face and obstructing her vision.

Neville was dead, Neville was dead. Those men had tortured and murdered him!

A heavy sob rose in the back of her throat and she had to stop running as the grief ran through her body. She hunched over, hands on knees, and gasped desperately for air.

Someone had to tell the State Security Committee…someone had to do something!

In her rush of panicked thoughts she failed to notice presence behind her until a gloved hand snaked around her mouth.

Ginevra clawed and fought with all her might until the man threw her against a wall. As her body fell to the ground she twisted to face the man who had killed her friend.

"You won't get away with it," she yelled with courage she would never have thought she possessed.

"What makes you think it was a crime?" the man stated smugly.

The pain rushing through her back took preference over the man's words. "Our Lord will find out," she protested, voice cracking.

The man crouched in front of her with a bemused expression. "Sweetheart," he said condescendingly, "he already knows."

A wand appeared a few inches from her face and the world faded to darkness.

* * *

When Ginevra woke she was on a damp floor. Memories flooded her minds simultaneously with pain.

"Neville," she whispered weakly.

She swallowed thickly and forced herself to sit up. She surveyed her surroundings with a growing panic -- she was in a cell. These men had killed Neville and they would surely kill her too.

Air caught in her throat as someone magically unlocked her cell and entered.

A man with a pleasant expression sat on the bench while she remained on the floor. "Hello, Ginevra," he greeted. "It is Ginevra, correct?"

She remained silent.

"Now, what you saw tonight -- or what you think you saw -- you didn't see. Understood?"

"You killed an innocent man," she responded after a moment.

He flashed her a sardonic smile, "No one is innocent. Your friend Neville was a traitor. Now, what do you make of that?"

Ginevra's eyes flashed angrily, "Neville has never betrayed anyone in his life! Our Lord will find out what you're doing and he'll stop you!"

"Beginning tomorrow Neville will have never existed. Any record of his miserable life will be systematically destroyed and the only person who will remember him is you. So how about you just be a good girl and accept the fact that Neville Longbottom was a traitor and we are better of without him. Perhaps you'll even take this as a lesson, Ginevra -- 'friends' are for the weak."

She knew it was a terrible risk but this was an opportunity. Mentally, she apologized to Neville.

"He was really a traitor?" she whispered meekly.

"Yes. We have it on good authority that he was going to attempt to turn you, Ginevra. You would never betray our Lord, would you?"

She thought of the portkey for the first time that evening. "No," she said strongly, "I wouldn't."

'There's a girl. Now, you've had a rough ordeal. Why don't you go to your apartment and start the process of forgetting Neville Longbottom."

She nodded slowly, taking note that this was the second time he had said the name Longbottom -- she assumed it was Neville's surname. "I can do that."

"I trust you can."

As she began to walk through the door of the cell the man slipped a wand out of his pocket.

"Ginevra?"

She turned.

"Obliviate!" He surveyed her vacant expression for a moment. "I don't trust you _that_ much, though."

* * *

The following day at work Ginevra trudged through her work while trying to ignore her nauseating headache.

It didn't help that the Ministry had decided to hold a threat meeting that morning. While she mindless shuffled paperwork she thought of the meeting.

Lucius had presided over the ceremonies. It was common knowledge that anything Lucius said came straight from the Dark Lord.

"Our enemies are gaining power," Lucius had said. "Those who wish to kill our Lord are getting closer. Sacrifice. Sacrifice is required of each of us to prevail in this struggle. We must continue through strongly not paying heed to our own selfish desires. Comrades, the needs of society outweigh material possessions and comforts."

Ginevra frowned. She supposed this meant the extra clothing supply promised earlier in the week was now off. She wished Neville were here…he would no doubt share her thoughts.

She glanced around the hall for Neville. She wondered where he was…he normally made it a point to at least sit near her for these meetings. She had wanted to walk with him to work today but he wouldn't answer his door. She'd figured he had went in early. But she hadn't seen him all day.

After last night she was sure -- her head exploded in pain.

She hadn't seen Neville last night, she recalled after a moment.

But she was so sure she had went to his apartment. Her headache had only worsened from there.

Ginevra tried to not think of the meeting any longer. It was only causing her to feel worse. She kept her mind off of the meeting and Neville until lunch. He still was no where to be found.

Theodore eventually sat across from her. He worked in the Hall of Records as well.

"Theodore," she greeted carefully, "how is work?"

"Very good," he responded with a smile. "We have some really exciting things going on right now. I wish I could tell you about it…but you understand the security measures, I'm sure."

She nodded. "I haven't seen Comrade Neville in a few days. He isn't ill, I hope."

Theodore lost the grin. "No. Neville is no longer with us."

"Was he moved to another department?"

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Why do you ask, Ginevra?"

Tread lightly, she reminded herself. "Our flats are in the same building," she said, smiling easily, "and he borrowed my cauldron. You know how hard cauldrons are to come by -- I wanted to make sure he returned it."

After biting his lip nervously, Theodore leaned across the table. "What I'm about to tell you, you are not to repeat to anyone; do you understand?"

"Of course."

"Neville has been erased."

"Erased?"

"I've been on it all morning. Any records, any mention of him in the _Prophet_ -- it's all been destroyed. As of eleven a.m. Neville has ceased to existed." Theodore grinned in a way that gave Ginevra the chills, "He's a non-person, now."

* * *

Ginevra waited until she returned home to contemplate the information. A non-person? Neville? Why would they erase Neville? And where was he?

Maybe he was on some sort of mission, she reasoned finally. If he were doing spy work then there could be no record of his previous life.

But if he were leaving he would have found some way to tell her.

None of it fit. Only traitors were so thoroughly erased. Neville had done nothing to warrant status as a non-person.

Unless…

What if they had found the research he was doing on her family and Black?

_They'd kill me for this_, Neville had said.

Oh, God. He was right. Neville died a traitor because of her!

And it was only a matter of time before they made the connection and figured out that he was only doing the research for her. With her head hung low Ginevra supposed she deserved death. She'd all but murdered her friend because she had been so desperate to know her bloody last name.

Maybe…maybe she should just turn herself in? They could help her. She shouldn't want to know the names of her family. She was ill. The Ministry could help her.

Or kill her.

No. He was always fair. The Dark Lord protected all his children and if she sought help she would receive it.

Ginevra tiredly rubbed her eyes. She wished there were someone she could consult on this matter…someone who wouldn't run off to report her the second they were through speaking.

Someone like Neville.

* * *

Ginevra lay in bed that night still mentally going over her options. And as often happened her thoughts strayed to a dangerous place.

She thought of all the things wrong with the government.

If only the Dark Lord knew what was happening. She knew of least three people who disappeared who weren't traitors at all. Something was going on. There was a conspiracy within the Ministry.

Someone had to warn the Dark Lord that the real traitors were his own high-ranking officers. But that someone was not going to be her.

No one was allowed to do any real magic. The spells they were allowed were no better than muggle magic tricks she read about in history books.

They would promise everyone extra blankets, clothes and food but none of these promises ever came to duration.

Muggleborn children were starving on the streets. The government had stolen the old magical enrollment lists from each of the schools. The lists that were once used simply to send acceptance letters were now used to round up muggleborns. They were taken from their homes and dumped in the streets of the Wizarding where they became slaves. Some escaped but could never find their way out -- those were the ones starving on the streets.

It didn't matter what the muggleborns did so long as their magic never strengthened. So long as they could never gather the power to be a threat.

Ginevra didn't see why they couldn't just leave the muggleborns with their families. With no formal training, no wand and no real clue about magic their powers would never develop. And even if they did, muggles were so terrified of magic that these individuals would never dare tell anyone about their abilities.

She continued to mentally count off the problems of society until she fell asleep.

* * *

A/N -- Well. There's some more insight into Voldemort's dictatorship. Hopefully no one was bored with some of the back stuff…I'm kind of mixing things I know about Soviet history that aren't in _1984_, but not enough that anyone needs to get my references. But if anyone is a Soviet history nerd I fancy Lucius to be a Beria-like character. Oh, yes, be frightened.

Anyway, enough about that. Chapter title is from King John. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter! Please repeat the kindness!


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